Blood Runs Dry
by Katerina M. Petrova
Summary: "You've...changed." Haven barks out a laugh. "Sure, I guess you could say going crazy vampire hunter has been a big change. I can't exactly say you've stayed the same." Isabella bites her lip and looks uncertainly at Damon. Her eyes are big and round, as if they're saying, 'Uhm! This isn't Haven' Sequel to Blood Deep. Warning: adult content.
1. Chapter 1

At one in the morning people are usually safe and sound, asleep in their beds. Children wrap their hands around teddy bears or rag dolls, adults wrap themselves around each other, the odd teenager or two stays up, the dim light of their laptops casting shadows onto their faces.

At one in the morning a very lonely and quite sad girl wraps her lips around the rim of a beer bottle. She takes a long swig before setting it back down, then thinks twice and takes an even longer swig. The bar is almost empty; a lone couple in the corner, a drunk man on the dance floor, the bartender casting glances at the clock and wearily wiping glasses. The girl stares at him with blank eyes until he notices and sits himself in front of her.

"Rough night, darling?" he asks.

The girl snaps her eyes away from him and signals for another bottle. He passes it to her, silently drinking in her bedraggled appearance. She must be very pretty underneath the oily hair and under-eye circles, he thinks. What must've been long, golden hair is now cut to right beneath the shoulders. It still has some of its golden sheen but is masked underneath a layer of dirt and grime. Soft brown eyes are sheltered beneath half closed eyelids and pink lips are chapped and begging for water instead of the sharp tang of beer.

"More like a rough existence," the girl says so quietly he almost doesn't hear her. She shrugs, eyes flitting up to meet his before looking at the clock. Her mouth stretches into a wide, audible yawn and he can hear joints cracking as she raises her arms for a stretch. "But that doesn't matter, does it? Live in the now, make the most of your life, yada yada."

The bartender hears a hint of sadness behind her words. He tries to sound as comforting as possible. "You are allowed to feel sad, you know. Life isn't all sunshine and daisies."

"I'm not sad," she immediately snaps. Then composes herself. "Sorry. Little drunk is what I am." She tilts her head and studies him. "What's your name?"

The bartender grins, showing off a row of teeth yellowed from years of coffee. "Greg."

"Greg." She rolls it around on her tongue, as if trying it on for size. "Nice to meet you, Greg. When d'you get off?"

Greg glances at the clock. "In about ten minutes actually. Did you wanna…?"

The girl shyly looks down and runs a finger across the beer bottle, swiping at the condensation that gathered there. "I did actually. Meet me outside?"

Greg grins again, disbelieving that he scored such a pretty girl. "Sure," he says. "Yeah, yeah I'll be quick." The girl was already sliding off her stool and heading towards the doors. He watches her bum encased in tight jeans a moment before calling out after her. "Wait!"

She turns.

"What's your name?"

A slow smirk makes its way onto her face. "Isabella."

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"You're not putting your all into it. Push harder, flex your arms. That's right, good. Good. Yes, there you go! See?"

"Shut up, jerk. I was putting my all into it. You just like to play teacher every chance you get."

"You shut up. I'm in charge, remember? _You _listen to _me._"

"Whatever."

On the other side of the country, in sunny California, a girl is light on her feet, pouncing and attacking a straw dummy that swings from the rafters. The girl has a light sheen of sweat covering her face and a vein on her forehead that looks like it's about to burst, but still she exerts herself, grunting when the dummy swings towards her and jabs at it with a heavy looking spear.

The boy reclines on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, head cocked to the side as he surveys her. He comments on her technique every few jabs, receiving harsh remarks and slurs in return. They make quite a team, that boy and girl. They have each other's backs, regardless of all the apparent tension between them.

"How 'bout a break?" he suggests.

The girl lets out a mighty yell as she thrusts with her arms, spearing the dummy where the heart would be. She wipes at her brow and spares the boy a condensing look.

"Breaks are for losers," she retorts. "Are you a loser, Javier?"

Javier chuckles and let his head loll, chin touching his chest. "You're a fucking menace, Haven; did anyone ever tell you that?"

Haven ignores him, instead crossing the warehouse and choosing a different weapon. She sorts through the various knives, spears and guns they have and picks a mean looking blade, safely secured in a beautiful red and black sheath. A honey slow smile spreads across her features as she releases the blade from its encasing. Her blue eyes glint in the reflection of the steel. Cold and hard, just like the weapon in her hands.

She turns back to Javier. "What say you to a little sparring?"

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Isabella has it down pat. She ventures out to the sleazy bars in the dead of the night, picking out the ones that would be less missed and less noticed.

Greg has no wife or kids. He works the late shift at the bar to pay the rent for the small, one bedroom apartment he lives in. He has a beer belly and graying hair but kind, brown eyes and Isabella almost feels a little bad when she sinks her teeth into his neck.

His rough hands still on her hips and his mouth opens in a little puckered 'o'. They are in the alley behind the bar, not very classy for Isabella's tastes but she takes what she gets. Her eyes flutter closed as warm blood trickles down her throat and seeps its way into her veins. This is what she lives for…literally. In no time, she drains the man and barely spares him a glance as he falls at her feet. She neatly steps over him and continues in the direction of the not so busy street.

As luck would have it, there was a single taxi waiting at the curb. Isabella gives directions and leans her head against the window, absentmindedly wiping at her mouth while staring at the passing buildings.

"Happy Birthday to me," she mutters. The taxi driver gives no inclination to have heard her.

Three years ago, she was turned. At the mere age of sixteen. Three years ago her life had turned upside down and her sister—her best friend—had walked out on her.

Isabella had always been sweet. She wasn't the type to hurt anyone, not even a fly. But that was three years ago, wasn't it? It was the middle of January now, Isabella at the young age of nineteen. Her heart wasn't cold, wasn't full of hatred. More like, it was full of weariness and exhaustion. She was tired of waking up to bleak skies every morning and an older vampire pestering her to get a job, go to college, do _something. _

"I don't wanna do something," she would mutter as she got out a blood bag. "I'm very happy with lying in bed all day, thank you very much."

"And what about the bars and motels at night?" he would ask. "Don't think you're so sly, Bella. I know what you do when you think I'm not looking."

"Stay out of my business, Damon," she would say and retreat to her room.

The taxi pulls up in front the Salvatore house. She pays her fare and steps out into the biting winter chill. She doesn't bother with a jacket; she likes the way the wind feels like a slap to her face.

The thing is, Damon was hurting too. He just dealt with it in his own way. There were countless nights when Isabella snuck downstairs with her purse and shoes only to find Damon passed out on the couch, bottle of whiskey inches away. She almost always wants to stay and curl up under the protection of his arm but then shakes her head and thinks better of it.

"Happy Birthday to me," she mutters again as she enters the house. A blast of warm air hits her and she basks in the safety and comfort of it as she toes off her boots. A light's on in the kitchen and she makes her way towards it.

Damon sits at the kitchen table, bottle of Scotch clutched in his hands. He doesn't bother with a glass these days. He looks up when Isabella enters. His eyes are clear and a ghost of a smile plays on his lips so he isn't _too _drunk, Isabella deducts. He nods at the empty chair next to him and Isabella accepts the invitation only after popping the cork on a bottle of red wine, her own poison of choice.

"I wanted this day to go a little different," Damon says quietly. Isabella takes a sip of wine before answering.

"I know," she says lamely. "Sorry."

"Elena baked a cake."

Isabella nods uninterestedly. "Did she? Hmm."

"'S in the 'fridge."

Isabella rolls her eyes and stands up, opening the 'fridge and bringing out the dish with the slightly lumpy chocolate cake. She gets out two forks and hands one to Damon. They sit in silence for a while, only the sounds of chewing breaking the stillness.

"I like vanilla better," Isabella comments after her third bite. "But tell Elena 'thank you'."

"Tell her yourself, brat," Damon says between a mouthful of cake.

"I would if I ever saw her around," she replies pointedly.

Damon scoffs. "Maybe if you stepped out of your lair, you would see her around."

Isabella ignores the jab. She daintily scoops up some frosting with her pinky and studies the man in front of her. Vampires don't age but the lines around Damon's eyes seemed to have deepened and his eyes are hazy. She's sure he would've found a way to end his life if not for Elena and herself. Even dear brother Stefan isn't enough to save Damon.

Damon and Elena. It was about time those two figured out their feelings for each other. Isabella is happy for them, she really is, but she'd rather not walk in on them going at it like bunnies.

Damon takes another forkful of the chocolaty goodness and a soft moan escapes his mouth. "You may rather have vanilla but Elena is a goddess when it comes to baking, you can't deny that."

Isabella feels something tug at her heartstrings. She missed this. Late night binges with Damon and talking until the early hours of the morning. It seems like they don't do that anymore. They _don't_ do that anymore. Hugs don't come easy anymore and words of kindness are replaced by words of accusation and tiredness.

_But today is different_, Isabella reminds herself. _Today is my birthday._

She stretches her arms until her fingers are brushing against Damon's own. He looks up and she offers a small smile.

"I don't wanna sleep alone tonight," she says.

Damon furrows his brows, a bit slow from the alcohol. Then he sighs. "I know what you did tonight," he starts.

Isabella pouts. "Technically it's morning."

"And I know you do it often, even though I turn a blind eye," he continues.

She taps her fingers on his arm. "And you still love me," she says matter-of-factly, raising an eyebrow.

Damon grunts. "Whatever, kid. Yeah, you can sleep with me tonight."

Isabella hums and lets herself feel content for once. She releases all her worries, one by one, mentally watching them float away. _Just for tonight, _she thinks. _I'll let my guard down just for tonight. _

It was her birthday after all.

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"I feel like my life is a bad sitcom," Haven's voice cuts through the dark. "Only with a bit of horror thrown in."

"I feel like it's a lot of horror," Javier says back.

Haven ponders this for a second. "Yeah, okay. A lot of horror."

"You know what's really horrible?" a sharp voice asks from the other side of the room. "Hearing you two never shut up."

Haven flips them the bird, ignoring the fact that it's too dark to actually see. About fifteen to twenty bodies are piled into one crowded room, sleeping on dingy mats smushed too close together. Haven has Javier on one side and a mousy girl on the other. She has her blanket pulled up to her chin, opting for her bare feet to go cold.

"But think about it," she starts again. "Don't you ever feel like you're trapped in some alternate reality and you can't believe this is actually your life? I mean, we are like a school for vampire hunters."

"Shut the fuck up, Haven. No one wants to hear about your late night crisis."

"You shut the fuck up, Carter. No one wants to hear your annoying as fuck voice, yet here we are."

A pillow is thrown across the room and smacks her in the face. Haven bats it away and turns on her side, her blue eyes seeking out Javier's brown ones. There was just enough moonlight shining from the dirty window to see his eyes glinting back. She reaches out and pokes him on the nose.

"Do you feel like you're living in some crazy TV show?" she whispers.

Javier grins and shrugs. "I think you're fucking crazy. And you should go to sleep because we have training in literally four hours."

Javier was twenty six, only eight years older than her. Only, she reasons, because they shared a sloppy kiss and grope in the bathroom once, thinking there was something special between them but deciding they were better off as friends.

He moved from Argentina when he was six years old with his mom and sister. On his eighteenth birthday a vampire killed them while walking out to the parking lot from the restaurant. He had found the group of vampire hunters when one showed up on his buddies front door step, asking about the interview he gave to the newspaper.

A lot of the kids shared similar stories. Only one or two were actually born into the society, learning how to become experienced hunters since before they could walk.

Haven met Javier weeks after she had run from Mystic Falls. She hopped onto a bus, then hopped onto a plane, then into a taxi and holed out on the streets before a friendly boy with dark brown curls and darker eyes offered her a place to stay. He listened to her stories, always taking her seriously even when they sounded outrageous.

"What if I told you," he had said slowly, "that there is a place where you can learn how to hunt those monsters."

"They aren't monsters," she immediately defended.

"He killed your family and then took you in, acting like he was doing you a favor."

So Javier took her to meet the kids who had been ripped away from their families. She learned their names and their stories and her heart couldn't take the tears and the pain so she hardened herself and eventually forgot about Damon and Isabella and her life in Mystic Falls. She cried out in pain when the blade one of the hunters wielded cut into her arm and moaned about how sore she was but Javier cleaned her wounds and rubbed her shoulders and encouraged her, watching as she grew into a skilled fighter.

Haven seeks out his eyes again but they are closed, his chest moving up and down with steady breaths. She turns onto her back, staring hard into the darkness. Her head is ablaze of a life she once knew and people she had once loved. She steels her mind and falls into a fitful sleep.

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A thousand miles away, settled close next to Damon, Isabella is plagued by her own memories. She turns into the warm embrace she is cocooned in and drifts off into dreams haunted by a girl with blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yep, that's it babe. Mm, yes right there. Keep going."

Isabella fixes her eyes on the clock in front of her. Exactly two forty-six in the morning. Damon was gonna _kill._

The man behind her has his sweaty hand fisted in her hair as he pounds her from behind. This is all routine, Isabella tells herself. Go down to the sleazy bar, pick up a guy or girl, get fucked, get her fill. All routine, she says again. All routine even if it makes her feel no better than a cheap whore.

"Don't stop," she spits out for good measure. The man lets out a throaty grunt and thrusts one more time before he pulls out. He peels of the condom and gestures to his erect dick, giving Isabella a toothy smile.

Isabella internally rolls her eyes but sinks to the floor, chanting to herself, _it's all routine._

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Javier lifts up his beer in a toast and grins at Haven. _Having fun? _he mouths.

It's almost six in the morning and she's got a major alcohol induced headache. After staring at the toilet bowl for the majority of the party, Haven's ready for a twenty minute power nap and a few laps around the track. Nonetheless, she lifts her half empty cup and nods. _Sure, _she thinks. _The party may be shit but at least there's weed._

She takes the blunt offered to her and takes a deep inhale before passing it on to the person next to her. Javier scoots closer until their knees touch and leans forward, pressing his lips to hers. She exhales slowly, mind becoming clear and hazy all at the same time.

"D'you maybe wanna…?"

Haven shakes her head. She wants a mindless fuck, not confusing pillow talk in the aftermath.

Javier moves back, tugging a strand of her hair in endearment. He nods to the far right, at a boy no older than nineteen. He has neat brown hair and a decent looking build underneath the tight black shirt he's wearing. Haven lips her parted lips. There's her fuck.

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"I know we agreed that you're too old for a spanking but give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull you over my knee right now."

Isabella inwardly cringes and moves past Damon to get a glass of water. "Because I'd cry and then you'd feel guilty."

Damon grabs her arm and spins her around. Isabella carefully sets her glass down on the counter and prepares for the lecture.

"Where the hell have you been?" Damon demands.

Isabella constructs her answer carefully before responding. "Look, I'm sorry, please don't be mad. I was out with some friends and lost track of time."

"What friends?"

"Just some old friends from school."

"I didn't know you still kept contact with them."

Isabella sneers. "Well, that's not exactly a conversation starter, is it? They're not even good friends, just some idiot classmates."

Damon lifts and eyebrow. "So why do you smell like someone just came all over you?"

Shit. Isabella lifts a finger to wipe at her mouth without thinking and Damon lets out a groan. She shrugs daintily.

"Sorry, Damon." That's really all she could say. She wasn't going to stop. The men she picked up were stupid but they weren't that stupid. It was easier to sink her teeth into a soft fleshy neck when the victim was lost in the depths of passion.

"I should really reconsider not walloping your ass," he grumbles. Isabella lifts up on her tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek and calls it a night.

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"Can I call you?"

Haven tucks her boobs into her bra before responding. "Look Marvin—"

"Marcel."

"_Marcel. _I'm a one night stand kind of girl. No attachments or relationships, feel me?"

The guy has the nerve to put on a cocky grin as he runs his hand up her thigh. "Yeah," he says lowly. "I feel you."

Okay time to go. Haven stands up, pulling her dress over her head and shoving her feet into her shoes. She plants her hands on her hips and fixes Marcel with a stern look. "To put it bluntly, I really hope I don't run into you ever again 'cause that would be severely awkward."

Marcel tugs on his bottom lip and throws her a wink. "But I was good, wasn't I?"

Haven lets her mouth pull up into a smile. Yeah he was pretty great. Haven would be satisfied for another week or two. What he lacked she could make up for with her hand.

"Bye, Marcel," she tosses over her shoulder and goes to look for Javier.

Javier is surrounded by adoring fangirls as he lazily strums a guitar. Haven leans against the couch he's sat on and smirks. He glances up at her with a flirty grin before returning his attention to the beautiful girl in front of him. He blows her a kiss and his eyes darken with lust as her cheeks redden.

Haven rolls her eyes and pokes him in the shoulder. He looks up again, this time slightly annoyed. "What?" he hisses.

Haven points at her phone. "Assignment," she whispers.

Javier lets out a "fuck" and says his goodbyes to the girls. He follows Haven out into the street, angrily adjusting the hard-on he's sporting.

They stand in silence for a while, breathing in the cold air and letting a calm hum overcome their bodies. Assignments pop up at the most random of times and they have trained themselves to be ready at any given moment.

After several minutes, Javier speaks. "I was so ready to unwind tonight."

"I know."

"I had her in the bag."

"Of course you did."

"Shut up. Did you get laid?"

Haven shoots a smug smile at him. "I don't kiss and tell."

"You don't kiss, you just fuck."

They fall into a comfortable silence again, their breathing aligning until it's one. Haven stretches her arms out in front of her, relishing in the buzz that crawls all over her skin. She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, ready to fight, ready to kill.

"Where to?" Javier asks.

"Not far. We can walk there, c'mon."

Their footfalls are soft as they walk side by side. Javier slips out a long handled knife from the inside of his jacket and hands it to Haven without a word. Her fingers wrap around the handle and she lets it hang by her side, her arm only holding the slightest bit of tension. Her breathing is completely even now, almost as if she were soundly sleeping. A sort of predatory aura has come over her, readying her body for the fight.

"Here," she says quietly. They stop in front of an old abandoned building, graffiti sprayed all over the entrance door. She waits for Javier to send a prayer to the god he so faithfully believes in then reaches out and pushes it open. It swings forward without a creak and the pair cautiously steps in.

A musty smell hits her hard. She focuses on breathing in and out, forcing herself to stay upright and not retch into the nearest bin. As her eyes adjust to the dark, she hears a sound near her left and nudges Javier. He has his own weapon out now, eyes already searching the room.

A wet snarl comes out of nowhere and there's a blur of movement as Javier pushes past Haven, sword drawn. There's a gasp then the sound of the blade meeting flesh and a body dropping to the ground. The pair are frozen for a moment before Haven lets out an annoyed whine.

"You little bitch. That was my kill."

Javier ignores her, still alert. "Are there anymore?"

"Nope, the text said this was the only one."

Still, he prowls around for a good five minutes before finally wiping his sword on his jeans and slipping it back into the sheath. He slings his arm around Haven and bops her on the nose.

"Don't look so glum, kitty cat. At least you didn't get your hands dirty. How 'bout some milkshakes?"

Haven has to grin at that. Milkshakes did sound pretty darn good.

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Isabella looks warily between the two adults in front of her. Fresh blueberry pancakes didn't happen unless there was some bad news about to be said.

Elena carefully sips at her tea, sending Damon urgent glances every once in a while. Damon pokes at his pancakes, brows furrowed even more so than usual.

Isabella puts her fork down with a loud clang, getting the attention of both gloomy looking people sitting at the table. She looks pointedly at both of them.

"Did someone die?"

Horrified looks from Elena. "No!"

"Is Jeremy okay?"

"Uhh, yes?"

"You pregnant?"

Elena gives her a sour look.

Isabella taps her chin in consideration. "Can that even happen? Is Damon's sperm still swimming or is it like free birth control?"

"Okay, that's enough," Damon snaps. Isabella innocently holds her hands up but gives him a leer.

"Sooooorry," she says, "but you guys are acting weirder than usual. Is there something I should know about?"

They give each other one last look before fixing their eyes on Isabella.

"We've decided to go on a little trip," Damon says. "Just to get away from this environment for a while."

Isabella nods slowly and stuffs more pancake into her mouth. "And you're telling me this…why?" she asks around a mouthful of food.

Damon gives her a 'duh' look. "We're obviously not leaving you here."

She lets out a very childish whine. "Whyyyyyy? I'm a fucking—goddamn it, Damon, _fudging—_grownup, I can take care of myself, you know."

"Well, this trip is kinda for you," Elena pipes in softly. "We've noticed you've never exactly gotten over—well, you know. And we've never gotten over—you know—either, so…"

"It'll be good for us," Damon intercedes. "New sites, different people, a week away from boring, old Mystic Falls."

Isabella chews it over in her head. It _would _be nice to get to see something a little different, she reasons. She shrugs. "Okay. Where are we going?"

Elena can barely contain her glee.

"California!"


End file.
